


Fracture

by Saber_Wing



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Noctis is a salty little shit when he's angry, Self-Doubt, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-18 20:40:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16524257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saber_Wing/pseuds/Saber_Wing
Summary: Regis made to round the desk, hand outstretched. “Son, please -”Son, the prince sobbed.Too little, too late.“I was wrong to question you, Your Majesty.” Noctis' voice shook around the words. He inclined his head, dipping into a perfect bow. “Forgive me.”





	Fracture

“Dad—”

“No. That is my final word.”

Noctis clenched his jaw. “Why not?”

Regis' eyes narrowed dangerously. “It is an unnecessary risk.”

The young prince paced the floor in front of his father's desk, wringing his hands. “Cor is leading the charge, and you know he's gonna watch me like a hawk. He's gonna teach me a bunch of stuff about their movements and tactics. We'll round up some beasts for the training rings, and come right back.”

Regis' hand tightened around the pen he was holding. The prince nearly flinched at his harsh expression. “I will not argue this with you, Noctis.”

“A-a couple glaives will be there – I probably won't even see any action. And Gladio's been drilling me on this stuff for weeks. If the fighting does reach me, I can take on a few beasts. I've really thought this through. Nothing's gonna happen to me, I promise!”

“I have given you my answer.”

Noctis growled. He clenched his fist as he paced another line in front of the desk. “I'd barely be gone a _week!_ ”

“I greatly dislike your language, and your tone. You will mind it. Now.”

He approached Regis, throwing up his hands. “When are you gonna stop babying me?”

“There will be other opportunities.”

“You're not _answering_ me!” Noctis slammed his palm against the desk.

Regis pushed himself to his feet. “ _Enough.”_ The King did not yell, but it was clear he had reached his limit. “You are far from combat ready.”

“B-but-”

“I said _enough,_ Prince Noctis. This behavior is uncalled for, and unbefitting a scion of Lucis. I will thank you to mind your tongue, and remember precisely with whom you are speaking. I expect better from you, and so do the people of Lucis. If this is how you choose to hold yourself at present, you have a long way to go.”

Noctis jerked back, as if he'd been slapped. Regis' face had shuttered – taken on that mask he wore for nobles, and the public. It was in the tilt of his lips—the set of his jaw. The steel in his eyes, as if he were speaking with council, and not his child.

This was a command from his sovereign. And Noctis, like anyone else, was expected to obey _._ Whether Regis had meant to or not, he had just shoved Noctis into the same category he might classify a troublesome noble.

So that was it, then. They weren't a father and a son. Just His Highness, and His Majesty.

It hurt. The distance between he and his father wasn't just a gap anymore – it was a chasm. Insurmountably wide, and more impossible to bridge than ever.

Noct's vision blurred. He swallowed hard, struggling to push the tears away.

_Prince_ Noctis, he'd called him.

_Prince._

“At the end of the day, that's all I am to anyone. Isn't it?”

Finally, the ice permeating his father's demeanor seemed to crack a bit. Regis visibly jolted. He blinked, something stricken falling over his expression. 'King' Regis was gone. He looked like Noct's father again, but it didn't matter. The damage was done.

Noctis laughed. “Prince Noctis. Scion of Lucis. Insomnia's little _cripple.”_

His dad actually flinched at the last one – a cruel, unfortunate headline, used by a particularly daring journalist shortly after Noct's accident with the Marilith. It got some public attention, and the words still surfaced from time to time, even to this day.

Regis reached for him. “No. Noctis—”

Years of training: blood, sweat, and tears, and none of it meant a damn thing. Regis clearly had no confidence in him at all. Why should he? There were days Noctis couldn't manage to unlock his knee long enough to navigate the _stairs_. How could he ever navigate a battlefield?

Even after all this time, Noctis was still that weak, pathetic eight-year-old. Cowering in the shadow of the Marilith—hoping he'd bleed to death before it hurt him again.

Noctis clenched his fists, digging his fingernails into his palms.

“I don't understand. Why did you even bother having me combat trained if I was never gonna be worth anything?”

Regis made to round the desk, hand outstretched. “Son, _please -”_

_Son,_ the prince sobbed.

Too little, too late.

“I was wrong to question you, Your Majesty.” Noctis' voice shook around the words. He inclined his head, dipping into a perfect bow. “Forgive me.”

Noctis almost didn't even see the door before he was slamming through it, bypassing a couple of bewildered Crownsguard as he fled the room. He disappeared down a little-used corridor, barely managing to stumble his way to an alcove before his chest caved in with sobs.

He covered his mouth with his sleeve, and wept.

* * *

“I'm having trouble thinking of something _worse_ you could have said to him, Regis.”

Regis sat slumped in a chair before the fireplace, head in his hands. “I know.”

“' _Remember precisely with whom you are speaking?'”_ Cor repeated, tone heavy with disbelief.

“I know!” The king blew a frustrated breath between his teeth, lifting his face from his palms. “I don't know what happened, Cor. I opened my mouth, and my _father_ came out.”

Cor leveled a stern, narrow-eyed stare at Regis. “All this could have been avoided if you'd just let me take him.”

Regis scoffed. “He can learn everything he needs to know right here. A little beast tracking and capture? I hardly see the point. Ignis and Gladiolus have his tactical lessons well in hand, I assure you.

Cor's eyes narrowed. “Bullshit. You're just being a mother hen. Drautos has lent me two of his best—Ulric and Altius. That's on top of dozens more Crownsguard, and Gladiolus. Honestly, I thought they'd be more than enough to calm your relentless over-protective streak, but clearly, I've underestimated you once again.”

Regis stared. “Cor, when is the last time I fired you?”

“Yesterday, Sire.”

“It’s been far too long, then. Get out of my study.”

The Marshall snorted. He sat down beside him, wordlessly handing Regis a glass of brandy. “You know, for someone with such a silver tongue, you manage to stick your foot in your mouth shockingly often. If only the council knew.”

Regis glared morosely at the younger man. He sipped listlessly at his drink, wondering what in the name of the Six could have possessed him be so harsh with Noct. Granted, his behavior _had_ been petulant, but...

' _Unbefitting a scion of Lucis?'_ There really _wasn't_ anything worse he could have said, short of disowning him.

Regis groaned. “Gods, Cor. I could have sent him to his room, and instead, I all but implied he was a lousy heir who couldn't do anything right. I have to fix this.” The King paused, threading his free hand through his hair. “How _do_ I fix this?”

Cor's response was dry, though not unkind. “You could try apologizing.”

“You've clearly never attempted to locate my child when he does not want to be found.” Regis glanced down at his phone, fiddling anxiously with the lock-screen. “They still don't have eyes on him. Ignis has a few ideas, but if those don't pan out...”

“He managed to lose his guards and evade the glaives, and you're still worried about a few sabertusks on the outskirts? Gods forbid, he might get a hangnail. Whatever will we do then?”

Regis narrowed his eyes, opening his mouth to reply, but before he could get a word out, his phone pinged. He unlocked it so fast, it nearly flew out of his hand. The moment he saw that the text was from Noctis, he released a breath he'd been holding all afternoon.

_Apologies for my abrupt departure. If it please_ _s_ _Your Majesty, you may reassign me a guard. The GPS tracking on my phone should be back up and running. Ignis has been informed of my exact location, and can direct you further if needed. Please let me know if there is anything more I can do to assist Your Majesty in further endeavors concerning my person._

_Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum CXIV_

Regis winced. He probably deserved that.

Cor took the phone to read the message. He whistled, handing it back to Regis with a shake of his head. “Punctuated, and in complete sentences. You've got your work cut out for you.”

The King downed the rest of his alcohol in one gulp, setting the glass down on the table just a bit too hard. “I will apologize for what I said, but not why I said it.”

Cor raised his eyes skyward. “For Shiva's sake, Regis. This isn't about any genuine fear for Noctis' well-being. It's about you seeing the Marilith around every corner.”

Regis felt a cold chunk of ice settle into the pit of his stomach. “I hardly think—”

The Marshall cut him off. “I do. And right now, you're not protecting him. You're telling him you're never going to trust his judgment on anything.”

The King clenched his jaw, feeling his temper rising despite himself. “That's not fair.”

Cor rose from his chair, fixing his friend with a stern look. “Isn't it? Noctis has been nothing if not dedicated. He has _flash cards,_ Regis. Detailing strengths and weaknesses of common beasts. That he _studies._ He made them himself – without prompting. I want you to think about that. And the real reason you're taking your son's precariously earned confidence, and scattering it to the wind.”

The Marshall exited the room before Regis could reply. He stared at the empty doorway where his friend had been, stunned speechless.

Chuckling humorlessly, he gazed down at the coldly professional text message his child had sent him. Cor's words hurt more than he wanted to admit. They'd all hit their mark.

His fingers hovered over the keys on his screen, but try as he might, Regis couldn't bring himself to compose a message. Nothing he had to say to his child could be done over something as trite and dismissive as a text. Even if he could justify the means, what would he say?

Regis thought back to Noct's face, in that room a few hours ago. Shocked and hurt, eyes unmistakably wet.

_'At the end of the day, that's all I am to anyone. Isn't it?'_

Gods, the words were a knife in Regis' heart. Noctis had always been sensitive about his position as Prince, and Regis had all but rubbed that insecurity in his face. How could he have done such a thing?

Why _was_ Regis so adverse to Noctis going to watch a few beast formations, under heavy guard, protected by his oldest friend? There was no one he trusted Noct's safety with _more_ than Cor, save Clarus. It wasn't as if they'd be out gallivanting around at all hours of the night, when the demons came out.

Noctis had been in danger many times, all within the 'protective' walls of Insomnia. Several foiled assassination attempts later, that was more true now than ever. Moreover, the Crown Prince wasn't exactly a child anymore. He was seventeen years old—mere _months_ away from graduating high school.

Regis had read the reports from Gladiolus, Clarus, Cor, and all of the glaives who'd ever been assigned to train with him. Each one detailed that the prince showed great promise.

The king jolted. He had _stomped_ on that, hadn't he? Looked Noctis in the eye and told him he wasn't combat ready. For a few beasts that posed not even a fraction of the challenge some of those threats on his life had been. And Noctis _himself_ had foiled a couple of those without any help from his Crownsguard.

Taking all of those things into account led Regis to only one conclusion, and it went far beyond normal fatherly concern.

...Regis hated when Cor was right.

He _had_ to fix this.

The King poured himself another glass of brandy, then sat back, gazing into the hearth. Bedtime was no longer on the horizon. He had a lot to think about.

* * *

Dinner the following night was five dozen shades of awful.

Noctis sat straight-backed in his perfectly tailored suit, making trite conversation with the counselor next to him. State dinners always made him twitch, but tonight he was taking a secret pleasure in the empty conversation. In every prim, proper word that drifted out of his own mouth.

His every action this evening had been precisely 'right,' down to the letter – not that anyone ever expected less during official functions. Contrary to popular belief, Noctis wasn't an uncultured moron. He'd spent his whole life perfecting the masks he donned in public—the empty smile people came to know as the Crown Prince of Lucis. Tonight was no different.

The reason it felt oddly satisfying to keep up the charade now, was because his father seemed weirdly disconcerted by it.

Noctis laughed at the punchline of a joke he hadn't heard, taking a sip of his drink.

“You've such a clever tongue, Counselor Roderick. It's no wonder your arguments are so widely respected among the people of Lucis.”

The counselor preened with pleasure under the praise. “Your Highness is too kind.”

“I learned from the best.” Noctis inclined his head toward his father, sitting a few spots away, at the head of the table. He favored the King with a smile so artificial, it hurt his face.

Anyone who didn't know Regis on a personal level would read nothing amiss – he responded with a smile of his own, one that might appear warm to prying eyes. Noctis knew him better, though – and could see that his eyes were _screaming._

From beside him, Gladio snorted into his wine.

When all was said and done, Regis clearly couldn't _wait_ to draw this dinner to a close, or rather – his part in it, at least. The dessert plates had barely been collected before he was rising from his chair, favoring his subjects with a fond smile.

“I do believe I'll retire. Noctis, if you'll join me for a night-cap? I might even allow you to sample the brandy.”

Polite laughter echoed around the table. Noctis laughed with them, willing his expression not to tighten. He couldn't refuse his father without betraying that something was amiss, so instead, he rose without difficulty, grin perhaps just a bit too wide.

“I could only be so lucky. I'll accompany you, all the same.” He locked eyes with Regis, betraying to him, in no uncertain terms, that he was not okay with this, and would take his leave the absolute instant they were out of earshot.

Amazing, what one could convey with only their eyes. Noctis was very well-versed. After all, he had Ignis as a teacher.

Noctis approached his father first, taking his arm, and the two exited the room together, their respective Shields trailing from a safe distance. Whether to keep up their professional image, or to avoid the oncoming explosion, was anyone's guess.

The moment they were far enough down the hallway, Noctis glanced discreetly down at his father's hand, making sure he had a tight enough grip on his cane before letting go of his arm. He was angry with his father, sure, but he didn't want him to _hurt_ himself.

Regis reached out to grab Noctis before he could move out of range. “Son, please. Give me a chance to explain.”

Noctis raised a brow, willing his mask to stay up until he made it back to his rooms. “You've explained quite enough.” His 'prince' persona was alive and well, and would be until Noct got the hell out of there. He'd be damned if his father cracked the facade now.

But something about the desperation in Regis' gaze...about the pain in his eyes. It gave Noct pause.

“Five minutes, that's all I ask. And if you're still angry, as you've a right to be, you can walk away, and I won't stop you. You have my word.”

Noctis clenched his jaw. He doubted Regis would rest until he said whatever was on his mind. The prince motioned with a jerk of his head, signaling that he'd be willing to follow. For now.

Regis released an audible sigh of relief, and led them up the stairs to his study, leaving their Shields to guard the entrance – and hide from the carnage – as he shut the door behind them.

Noctis crossed his arms, stopping a few feet in front of Regis. “I'm not good enough to be in any real fights. You've made that clear. I'd rather you didn't rub it in, so can we just drop it, please? From now on, I'll be the best wallflower there ever was. I promise.”

Noctis tried _so_ hard to do right by everyone. To excel, despite his disabilities. Of course, there'd been times he doubted himself, but having Regis voice those doubts yesterday had been eye-opening. Who did he think he was kidding? Noctis would never be even a fraction of the warrior Regis was. The Marilith had seen to that. Regis might feel bad about saying so _now,_ but that didn't make it any less true.

It was hard not to taste the bitterness – to let it drip, like poison from his tongue.

Somehow, Noctis managed to bite it back.

“Son...” Regis reached for him, hands stopping just short of gripping his shoulders. The guilt in his father's eyes threatened to break him.

Noctis shook his head. “I'll stop fighting you. You don't have to feel guilty about what you said, okay? We're good. Don't worry about it.” He turned, made to grab the doorknob before he could humiliate himself. He was holding the fragments of his mask together, but only just. The pieces were slipping, sliding from -

“I was _wrong_.”

He'd never, _ever_ heard such a note of desperation in his father's voice before. The words ripped through Noctis, startling him out of his downward spiral.

“What?” Noct's voice was small – tentative, afraid to probe further.

“I was wrong.” Regis threaded his fingers through his hair, leaning back against the desk. “Noct...”

Noctis had never seen his father so utterly at a loss for words. It frightened him. He took an involuntary step forward. Part of him wanted to reach out, but doubt stayed his hand – hurt, sadness, and too many other emotions running rampant inside his mind.

The King hid his face in his hands. His breath stuttered, words wobbling suspiciously. “I know you don't...remember much, about what happened with the Marilith. A blessing, really.”

Then Regis looked up...

...and Noct's whole world came crashing down.

He was _crying._ And the tears weren't just in his eyes...they were trailing down his cheeks.

“I do. I remember every labored breath you took, wondering if it would be your last. Every droplet of blood, splashing on the ground as I sprinted, holding you in my arms. I remember every moment spent at your bedside...grasping your hand. Begging our Gods not to take you from me.”

Noctis' mask shattered into a thousand tiny shards.

“Dad...”

Regis raised a hand. “I remember the moment you woke. Every second spent in Tenebrae. In physical therapy upon our return, watching you scream, and cry, and _get back up_ every time you fell. None of it ever stopped you. It barely gave you pause.”

His father laughed – a sad, watery sound. “You're still that same little boy, in my mind. Still helpless, and small, and everything to me. But you're not small or helpless, are you?”

Noctis stumbled forward, knees buckling underneath him. He understood. For the first time in nine years...he understood everything.

Regis didn't regret the words he'd said because they hurt Noct's feelings. He regretted them because they were _wrong_. Spoken out of a deep-seated fear that a demon would rise from the shadows to take his child from him.

Regis was _scared._ Scared, and probably just as traumatized as Noctis himself. He didn't want him venturing outside the wall, not because _Noctis_ couldn't handle it...

...because _Regis_ couldn't.

“I am _so_ proud of you, Noct. You are every inch the warrior my reports have detailed. You are _so much more_ than just a scion of Lucis. And any objections I have about this mission are trite, and groundless. The anxieties of an old man. Nothing more.”

For the first time all day, Noctis looked at his father. _Really_ looked at the shadows under his eyes: they were puffy, and the slightest bit red – from crying, now, but perhaps they'd looked as such all night.

His father had been _up_ all night, thinking about this. Hadn't he?

“Anyhow...” Regis smiled through the tears. “I won't keep you. The mission leaves in a couple of days, and you have bags to pack.”

Noctis didn't waste another second. He closed the distance between them, throwing his arms around his waist.

Regis exhaled shakily, wrapping his arms around Noctis. His voice was thick, and he buried his face in Noct's hair. “I'm sorry.”

Noctis couldn't tell him it was all right – it wasn't. They both knew that. But...

“I get it. I get it now.”

Regis held him tighter. He kissed the crown of Noct's head.

“I-I'll call you every day. Several times a day if you want.”

“I'd appreciate that.”

“I'll be extra careful, and do everything Cor tells me.”

“You'd better.”

Noctis pulled back, meeting Regis' eyes. “I can do this.”

Regis cupped his cheek. “I know you can.”

Noctis stood, reaching down to help his father stand. They gazed at each other—neither speaking. Words seemed unnecessary now, at least for the moment.

He did have one more question, though. A burning suspicion he needed answered.

“...Cor yelled at you, didn't he?”

Regis groaned. “Don't remind me. I've one more apology to make this night.”

_Nailed it._

“You know, for a king, you sure do a lot of groveling.”

His father huffed. “I _can_ arrest you for treason.”

Noctis grinned. “Noted.”

They couldn't slap a bandage on these wounds, or heal them with an elixir. Their relationship was fractured, and it needed time. Patience.

Noctis knew they'd have all the time they needed when Regis ruffled his hair, and smiled back.

**Author's Note:**

> You know, it occured to me that we often focus on the trauma Noctis has faced in the aftermath of the Marilith attack, for obvious reasons. It's a whump gold mine. But what about Regis? This is the culmination of those thoughts. Also, I have explored how much love Regis and Noct have for each other, but I haven't gotten the chance to delve as much into the difficulties they must have as well . Noct's insecurities...Regis doing the best he can, but not as present as he wants to be, and probably more than a little over-protective. 
> 
> Watching Regis squirm is a little bit too much fun. There are plenty of depictions of him out there as the noble, proud King we all know and love, but what about the 'human' Regis? The one who makes mistakes, and occasionally says things that hurt people? That's why I'm here.
> 
> I just...have a lot of feelings. About these two in particular, and I don't think I'll ever get enough of writing them.


End file.
